Mistakes
by Tearlit
Summary: In war you make sacrifices and you always save yourself, no matter who or what will be destroyed in the process. John/Allison. Not compliant with S2 finale.
1. War

A/N - Written for the LJ community 10_hurtcomfort. As the title of the community suggests this will be a 10 chapter fic. The chapters will all connect. Once again, this is not compliant with the S2 finale.

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In war, as in chess, you must make sacrifices. This was one of the first things that John Connor learned as a child - you make sacrifices and you always save yourself, no matter who or what will be destroyed in the process. It was this principle that caused him to leave his uncle to bleed to death from a wound caused by a T-888 just before Judgment Day. It was this principle that caused him to flip the switch on the old pocket watch that still hung around his neck and murder the object of his first love so many years before. It was that damnable lesson, he knew, that would cause him to send Allison Young to her death.

He should not have grown close to her, should not have let himself love her. He often wondered if he would have been so drawn to her had she not been wearing Cameron's face. John nearly choked on the irony of it - Cameron was the one that stole her face. She didn't know, of course, couldn't know. No one did.

He often wondered which he would miss more. He had missed Cameron with a deep bone ache for years, always regretting the move that caused him to destroy her. He could have fixed her, had she not hung the key to her death around his overly emotional neck. Still…he always knew that somehow he would have a second chance. She would come back to him, perfect and whole and undamaged and he would do everything within his power to keep her that way.

And now there was Allison…with her jaded eyes and sad smile, with her rough hands and gentle ways, with her volatile emotions and unwavering loyalty… She had been with him now longer than Cameron ever had and he did not know how he would find the strength to let her go. Cameron's face came to the forefront of his mind then, exactly the same…yet horrendously different with the emotions bled away and the wide unblinking eyes…

He drew a new resolve from the both of them - from Allison's frail humanity and Cameron's cold exterior, from the fact that they both loved him in their own ways, from the fact that they both believed in him.

He sighed, pulling the sleeping girl closer to him and burying his face in her hair. War was made up of sacrifice, and sacrifices were never easy.


	2. Need

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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John blinked awake to the dim light that was a constant in this place and reached out to find nothing beside him but a warm spot in the threadbare sheets. He was instantly alert, grabbing the gun from under the makeshift bed and shoving his feet into boots. The man pushed the heavy iron door open that separated the alcove where he slept from the war room and strode through it, eyes sweeping about for the girl.

He found her in the hallway curled with her knees to her chest and a wistful look on her face. Kneeling in front of her, the general gazed at her, a question in his eyes.

"They're marching," she murmured absently, and it was only then that he heard the sounds from the surface that echoed down into the tunnels below. "It sounds like thunder. It's been years since I heard real thunder. Over a decade since I've felt rain on my face."

He remained silent and her expression turned thoughtful. "I'd kill for a shower."

"You'd kill for a lot of things," he replied.

"And yet I've never killed anything."

"But if they had a shower…"

She grinned, rare and fleeting, and he took a mental picture, storing it away in the back of his mind to keep with him after she was gone. Unlike a real photograph it would never become torn, would never fade, and could never be burnt to ash. It would always be there, ready to call up behind his eyelids for him to study so he could memorize every line on her face. So that he would be sure he was ready. So that he would instantly spot the difference when the machine came back wearing her features. So he would know when Cameron was his again.

Her eyes turned tender and he realized that his expression must have betrayed his inner thoughts. "If they had a shower I'd win this war for you," she whispered, leaning in and pressing her lips softly to his.

He kissed her for a moment before pulling back and crushing her to him in a hug.

"You may win it for me yet," he murmured.


	3. Distress

Disclaimer - Not mine

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He poured over the plans spread out on the table while the young woman he kept close by his side twirled and leapt around the crowded place. The only sounds were of her bare feet striking the floor and the muted whispers as she hummed under her breath. He was so accustomed to her presence that he didn't realize she had ceased her dancing until he felt her fingers on his jaw. Sighing, he let her lift his chin up.

"What?" he asked tersely.

Her eyes were thoughtful as she traced one finger from his hairline down to his eyebrow before jumping to just below his eye and continuing down his cheek, stopping with the deeply indented scar ended and cupping his face in her hand.

"This scar. How'd you get it?"

His jaw clenched.

"You've always had it. It's a part of you. Some people with scars, they detract from them and the scar is all you see. It's not that way with you. You wouldn't be you without it. I only notice every now and then but whenever I do I wonder what it was that hurt you so badly. I wish I had been there to stop it."

He placed his hand over hers, closing his eyes.

"It was years ago, on Judgment Day. I was caught by a flying piece of broken pipe. Still don't know how it missed my eye."

She gazed at him steadily for a moment. "There's more to it than that."

"I told you more just now than I've told anyone ever."

She opened her mouth to speak and he raised one hand, pulling away from her touch and looking her in the eye. "This subject is closed. Do not bring it up again, soldier. Understood?"

There was defiance in her eyes, but she nodded her consent.

"Go do the rounds and report back," he ordered, dropping his eyes to blueprints he could no longer focus on. He kept his gaze on the table as she slipped her boots on and left the room.

John rubbed his hand along his face and let himself remember.

_The rusty pipe flew through the air and he was frozen in place, unable to duck. The force of it knocked him off his feet, sent him rolling backwards, end over end, for several yards to land hard on his stomach. He was blinded, for a moment by the pain and then by a warm wetness that seeped into one eye. He raised his head up in time to see the cyborg snap his mother's neck and toss her to the side like a piece of useless garbage. She marched toward him then, slow, steady, and resolute in her mission. _

"One day one of those things is going to kill you."

"It won't be this one."

_The conversation between him and Derek played through his mind as he tugged the pocket watch from under his shirt and wrenched the face open on it. She was feet from him when he hit the switch. Cameron spasmed and fell, the smell of burnt hair permeating the area as her scalp caught fire. John sank to the ground, blood dripping into his lap, and let the pain drag him under. _

The door opening brought him forcefully back to the present, one hand going for a gun. Allison stood just inside the room, hands raised, an indefinable expression on her face. He lowered the gun and she shut and locked the door, moving quickly to him and perching on his lap, wrapping her arms around him and pulling her head to his chest.

He permitted her this for a few moments before pulling away.

"John…"

"Stop it, Allison."

"No, John, you stop it. Why do you always lock yourself away?"

"I can't depend on you."

"What? Why do you think that?"

"Because one day soon, you'll be dead."


	4. Burn

**A/N - **Thanks to my lovely reviewers!

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She was out in the field again - she was volunteering more and more now, and he was beginning to wonder if it wasn't an excuse to stay away from him. It always put him on edge - would this mission be the one she wouldn't return from? He did not know. He only knew that it would be soon, this year, maybe a few weeks beyond that, but no more. The thought of it made him nauseous and he began to pace to focus his thoughts elsewhere.

He was on his seventh circuit of the room when a knock sounded at his door.

"Who is it?" he growled out.

"John, it's me." He both sighed in relief at hearing her voice and stiffened, pulling the tazer out and holding it inconspicuously at his side as he opened the door.

One look at the girl and he knew it was Allison. She sagged against the doorframe, one arm curled protectively to her chest. Her shirt was missing many of the main components that made it be known as a shirt, and John realized that her pose was both due to injury and to protect her modesty. There was pain, heavy and tangible, in her eyes and he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her through the door before slamming it shut and locking it.

"What happened?" he asked, dragging her through to where they slept and easing her down to sit on the bed. She let him pull her arm out from the protection of her body and, peering past the dirt and ash, he realized that she was covered in nasty burns.

"They were burning the piles of bodies. There was a child. Screaming," she answered slowly. A slight trembling began in her muscles.

His jaw clenched.

"I couldn't stand by and do nothing. I had to try to get her out."

"Did you?"

"Yes."

"Where is she?"

"She died before we could get her here. But she knew. She knew someone cared whether she lived or died. She knew that there was more left in the world than machines and slaves. She saw me coming for her and there was such hope in her eyes as I scrambled over those dead bodies, reaching for her."

He swept the strands of hair back from her face, fingertips stroking along her jaw. "You did a good thing. A stupid thing, a dangerous thing, but a good one."

"She was trapped," the girl continued as if he had not spoken. "The flames got to her just before I did…she went up like a fucking matchstick and I knew better than to keep reaching. God, I knew better but I thought I could put her out…Even though I knew she was covered in some sort of accelerant I thought I could still save her."

John remained silent as he pulled the remains of her shirt off and began to clean and bandage the wounds as best as he could.

She took a shuddering breath. "I grabbed her out of there and smacked at the flames - they were crawling up my arm by then. I lost my balance and we rolled down that mound of corpses. Unfortunately the rolling didn't put us out. Stop, drop and roll…" she chuckled mirthlessly. "I guess it doesn't really work when you're rolling down something that's on fire too. One of the guys on my team managed to get us put out once we landed in the rubble."

She went quiet then, not even flinching when he probed the worst of the burns and wrapped gauze around them.

"What happened then?" he questioned gently.

"She was still breathing, still conscious, still so scared, John. She reminded me of the way I felt on Judgment Day…they told me she was dying but I couldn't leave her there. I couldn't!"

Her eyes pleaded with him to understand as John finished patching her up. He pulled out one of his only spare shirts and slipped it over her head, watching as her eyes clenched shut when he guided her arm through the hole and into the sleeve.

"I carried her back even though I felt like my arm was going to fall off," she continued weakly. "I could see the entrance to the camp when she stopped breathing. I left her there. It wouldn't be right to make someone have to carry her back out when she was already dead. I left her there, in a pile so like the one I had just saved her from."

She pulled away from him then, curling up on her uninjured side and pressing her forehead to the concrete wall.

"Ally…" he began softly, utterly unsure of what to do with the distraught woman.

"What's the point of all this, John? What's the point? We're not making any progress I can see. We lose more and more people all the time. Why keep trying? Why keep fighting?"

"We'll win one day. We just have to keep pushing toward it."

"We all die one day, too," she replied calmly, sitting up and staring at him.

"If you want to give up go ahead, go on out to the surface. Feel the wind in your hair and the sun on your face. Feel the metal snap your cowardly neck. Go on," he growled.

"John…John I didn't mean it like that."

"How did you mean it then?"

"Is it too much to ask for a little reassurance? To know that I'm not risking my neck day in and day out in vain?" she asked brokenly.

He did not reply but reached out and took her hand in both of his, squeezing gently.

"I'm sorry. I know it's not in vain it's just sometimes…" she trailed off, sighing heavily.

"Sometimes it's too much. You've seen enough death and felt enough pain for a dozen lifetimes and you feel like you'll break if you see one more horrible thing. You can't see what you're fighting for anymore."

She nodded, squeezing his hand. "But I can, if I take a moment to look. I'm fighting for you."


	5. Loss

John was on his way back to his quarters from deploying yet another unit on a mission when he heard the sounds of dry heaving coming from the direction of the latrines. He sighed, moving toward the sound - if it was another illness the person would have to be quarantined. The last time a sickness had passed through three dozen people had died.

In the shadowed tunnel just outside his destination a woman knelt on the floor, dark hair hanging down and obscuring her face. He crouched beside her and swept her hair back from a face slick with sweat, eyes widening in shock as he recognized her.

"Ally," he murmured, voice strained.

"I'm fine, go away," she choked out, pushing weakly at him. Spittle ran from her lips and John wiped her mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.

Ignoring her, he pulled her to her feet and half carried, half dragged her through the tunnels. She wrapped one arm around her stomach, fighting back her gag reflex as people looked on fearfully and shied away. One girl detached from the wall and approached him.

"General? I'm a medic, sir, if you'd like me to look at her."

He nodded and followed her to a section of tunnel where they always brought the sick. She pulled away from him and sat against the wall, putting her head between her knees.

"If you'll move back, sir, and let me examine her."

John moved to stand in the doorway and watched as the medic wiped her flushed face with a cool cloth, conversing with her quietly. He attempted to listen as the medic asked her questions, but could only catch snatches of the conversation. At a few of the questions the young woman's eyes flashed to him, fear and uncertainty plain in them.

"How far along?" the medic murmured.

"Around two or three months. It was hard to tell for certain."

The medic nodded. "It's common. With rest you should be back on your feet in about a week."

"A week? But my unit has a mission tomorrow, I've got to…"

"You've got to rest," John voiced. "You're no good to us if you're dead."

Allison flinched as though she had been slapped. "Is that all I am to you, then? A soldier?" she murmured, eyes glued to his face.

The medic rose. "I'll be right back, dear. I'll get you a little something for the pain and that should help the nausea."

"No, I'll be fine. Save the medicine for the wounded."

The medic studied her a moment and then nodded. "Well, make sure you don't go back out into the field for at least a week, and try to stay off your feet." The woman stiffened as she heard someone down the tunnel calling for medical assistance. "I've got to go," she murmured, fixing John with a distinctly negative expression as she rushed from the room.

He knelt by Allison. "What's all this?"

"A complication. I push myself. We all push ourselves and we can't go forever or we fall to pieces," she murmured, her head falling into her hands.

"You've been avoiding me."

"You would be angry."

"I'm not angry."

"Only because I'm not pregnant."

"You were," he stated, voice hard.

"Lots of people were. The world was, once. Babies everywhere. Fat cheeked and rosy."

She leaned her head back against the wall, eyes closed, and she breathed shallowly, one hand over her stomach, sweat breaking out on her brow again. He waited until she had relaxed a bit to speak.

"Who was the father?"

She fixed him with a glare that would have made his mother proud. "You bastard."

"It's a valid question."

"Not with me."

He shrugged.

"Sometimes I hate you. I always love you. I would die for you. But you can be a real asshole."

"I know." He paused for a moment before continuing, "I…I would be sad if you died."

"Well that's something at least," she murmured.

He leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead. "Let's get you out of here," John said, bending down and lifting her to her feet.

"John…"

"Hush."

He helped her back to the war room and she pulled away, leaning against the wall and breathing shallowly.

"How bad is it?"

She shrugged. "I've had worse."

He came up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders, tugging gently until she leaned back against him. He placed his hands on her stomach and brushed his lips along her neck.

"I'm sorry about the baby."

She shrugged. "It's rare to carry them to term anyway, what with the diet and the whole nuclear war thing."

"Don't. Don't act like it doesn't matter."

"If I don't I'll fall apart."

"Everyone needs to fall apart sometimes."

"You don't. And I can't."

He nodded in agreement, pressing his lips to the crown of her head.


	6. Save Me

"John, why did you save me?"

"What?"

"In the tunnels that day. Why did you get me away from those people? Why did you bring me to your camp? Why didn't you just let me die?"

He shrugged. "I could tell that with a little training you'd make a damn good soldier."

"Yeah, right."

"What do you want me to say? The truth is the truth."

"Yea, too bad you suck at telling it. Do you even know how to not cloak something in lies anymore?"

"You are a damn good soldier."

"Are you sure you just didn't want me in your bed?"

His eyes shot to her face.

"It took you barely a week to get me there."

"And you've been here ever since. Happier, safer and better fed than ever before."

"I was covered in dirt and soot and raw sewage. Nothing about me was pretty that day. I'm surprised you could even see my face."

"I heard your voice," he replied without thinking.

"You chose me because of my voice? How very…odd."

"Allison," he remarked sternly.

"Are you ever going to tell me the truth?"

"I tell you as much as you need to know. I give you the same courtesy that I do everyone else."

"Well, that's comforting," she replied dryly.

"Isn't it enough to be here, in this camp, in my personal quarters, to know what's going on before anyone else?"

"I want to understand you."

He sighed.

"You reminded me of someone. A girl from before. She didn't survive Judgment Day."

"You loved her?"

He nodded.

"Your voice, it reminded me of hers. Then once you cleaned up…you look…a lot like her."

"Do you pretend I'm her?"

"Sometimes."

She nodded slowly.

"Does that bother you?" he asked.

She thought for a few moments. "No."

"Who's lying now?"

"It bothers me, but…at least you aren't lying for once."

"Come here."

She moved closer and he took her hands in his, pulling her onto his lap. "Sometimes you do things that are just like her. But most of the time…I'm very aware of who you are. And who you aren't."

"Do you care about me because I remind you of her, or because you care about me?"

"Both."

She thought for a moment before nodding. "I can live with that."

He brought her hand to his face and kissed her palm. "Are you upset?"

She shrugged. "I'll get over it. Tell me one thing. What was her name?"

He paused for several long seconds before granting her request.

"Cameron."


	7. Desperation

A/N - Sorry for the long update time! I actually forgot about this story...But I'm back with it now!

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He sent her out more and more, each mission more dangerous than the last. She always came home. She never complained. Ever. Each time he prepared for the cyborg, each time he was disappointed. What if something had changed? What if they didn't take her? What if he was doomed to live with that failure? What if he could never make it right? Would he remain happy with Allison knowing that Allison was all she would ever be?

It kept him up at night, as if he needed something else to keep him up. He paced endlessly, night after night, plotting the death of the young woman who slept in his bed, who trusted him, who loved him.

Did he trust her? To an extent. Did he love her? He sighed, running his hands through his shortened hair. As much as he could. Was he using her? He had to admit that he was, that he always had been. She was just a tool to get back what he lost in one way or another. Though weren't they all just tools, weapons, pawns? The thought did not sit well with him.

He strode into the room where Allison was curled up under a threadbare blanket on the worn out mattress, sinking down beside her and shaking her awake.

Her eyes flew open and she lurched upright, groping around for a weapon.

"Has there been a breach?"

"No."

She regarded him quizzically.

"Come here," he ordered, extending his arms.

She went to him and he wrapped his arms around her, tangling his fingers in her hair and tilting her face up for a kiss.

"John?"

"Shh," he whispered, pushing her back and leaning over her. His hands skimmed along her body and she opened herself to him as she always did, letting him find a release in her.

Afterwards they lay facing each other, legs intertwined, his head pressed to her chest.

"Allison?"

"Mm?"

"I love you."

Her fingers that were trailing idly through his short cropped hair stilled.

"I know," she breathed. A moment later. "Thank you, for finally saying it."

He did not respond but pressed closer to her, breathing in her scent.


End file.
